Mayhem's Mistress
by Miratete
Summary: This one's for you Mayhem fans, who'd love to see him do something other than spout cliché villain's lines, berate his underlings, and eventually get shot down. Warning: This story contains alcohol, tobacco, and grey-haired people kissing. Chapter 3 contains obsessive use of coffee.
1. Mayhem's Mistress

Mayhem's Mistress

Dr. Evelyn Rosenborn looked up from the work table where she was hurriedly cleaning shards of pottery as the helicopter came down into the plaza—a strange looking helicopter, with sleek lines and dark paint. "I wonder who that could be?"

She set down her brushes, washed the dust from her hands, and pulled her light jacket on over her tank top, just as a tall black SUV and a dark purple car careened into the plaza. "Well this is odd."

Evelyn walked toward the visitors, her stomach twisting. What did CAAF want now? Were they going to take back the very last of the funding before she could pay the workers? Were they just going to throw her out of the Tal'chun before the week was up?

Drivers climbed out of the helicopter and the vehicles, two men and a woman wearing helmets that completely covered their heads and necks. "Hello! May I help you?" she called, at a complete loss as to who the visitors were. The man from the black SUV had an assault rifle slung across his back and of more concern, one in his hands. The man from the helicopter wore something of a military uniform that matched the helmet he wore.

The workers around the temple complex had stopped to look at the visitors. Usually anyone coming from the outside looked either like journalists, government somebodies, or CAAF officials. These three looked like none of the above.

The man in the uniform stepped intimidatingly close to her. "Are you Dr. Rosenborn? In charge of the excavation here?" His voice was almost a growl.

"Yes, I'm Dr. Rosenborn." She held out her hand, but the man did not take it.

"Let me make this simple, Doctor. Word came to us that you've unearthed an object of great importance and power. You can either give it to me now, and no one gets hurt." He raised his hand in a fist. "Or we can take it by force."

For a moment she stared blankly at him. An object of great importance and power? What was he talking about? And then it hit her. She began to chuckle...and then laugh...and then cry...and then laugh again.

The visitors were probably now staring blankly at her from beneath their masks.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, wiping the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. "It's been a rough week around here." She pushed her greying hair from her eyes and started to walk toward the stone temple at the edge of the plaza. "C'mon. I'll show you."

"Stay here, Dagger," the uniformed man commanded, and he and the woman followed Evelyn.

At the temple, they climbed the steep steps to a large platform about two stories above the plaza. Evelyn bent under the low tent erected atop the stone surface. "So, did CAAF send you?"

"CAAF?"

"I guess not. So you're just thieves then," she snorted. "Not that it makes any difference to me at this point."

They followed her under the tent, finding a large section of the stone platform removed, and the area beneath excavated. An old blanket covered something toward the center. Evelyn jumped down into the pit and pulled away the blanket, revealing what appeared to be a grave and a partial skeleton, clearly quite ancient, and clearly quite eroded by the forces of nature. The remains of beaded necklaces and a row of jade plates stood out. "Well, there it is."

"What is?"

"Your object of great importance and power." Her tone was almost mocking.

The two masked visitors looked at the grave, and back at her, and then back at the grave.

Evelyn pointed. "Those carved jade plates, they used to adorn a scepter, the sort held by major dignitaries in this area. It was the symbol of power and authority over the area. And there's a complete set of plates there."

"That's it?"

"They've only found one complete set before." She sighed and sat down on the edge of the pit. "So go ahead and take them. They're worth something to a collector, probably about ten to fifteen thousand dollars."

"That's all!?" said the woman incredulously. "We came all the way out here for that?! I'm so going to strangle Dagger for this," she snarled.

"Not enough for you? Well at this point go ahead and take whatever you want. I just don't care."

The pair looked at her as she began sobbing into her sleeve.

"What's going on here?" The man turned to face her, his mask hiding the puzzlement on his face.

"The end of another chapter in my life." She wiped off her eyes, and smiled. "Come to the field house. You can pick out something pretty to take home as a souvenir."

She hopped up and left the tent, and then walked down the steps toward a longish wooden building set up on the far end of the plaza.

As they left the tent, the uniformed one looked over at the woman. "You go strangle Dagger. I'll go see what she's got."

Inside the field house, Mayhem was most disappointed. There were long tables covered from end to end with bits of pottery, a few piles of beads, some oxidized and unrecognizable metal objects, and a few boxes of human bones.

"Help yourself," Evelyn said. "I'd almost rather you took it than turning it all over to CAAF on Friday. She went to a table at the side and poured herself a cup of coffee. "Heck, I would rather you took it than they did. Just to spite them."

"Anything immediately valuable?" Mayhem asked, almost sheepishly. "Gold? Jewels?"

Evelyn leaned back against the wall next to the coffee service and shook her head. "We found a couple of gold earrings and a nice bracelet on the guy we unearthed last month. But CAAF took those already."

Mayhem walked through the rows of artifacts pulled from the ruins of Tal'chun, shaking his head. Not even the scanners in his mask were detecting anything of interest.

"I know," she said almost apologetically. "Nothing really good here. That's why CAAF is shutting us down."

"Who is this CAAF you hate so much?"

"Central American Archaeological Fund. I was able to get funding from them for this dig when the university pulled out. CAAF is like the nasty old aunt you pretend to like to stay in her will. Well, this niece and her little project was voted not interesting enough and not profitable enough, and I've been written out of that will."

"Nice analogy."

"It says a lot, doesn't it."

"It explains the bitterness."

She drank the coffee as if somehow it would calm her, and then poured another cup. "Want some coffee? It's the good Guatemalan stuff." And then she laughed again. "I think I'll make sure there are a couple bags of it in my suitcase when I go."

"I could use a cup."

She pulled out a clean mug and filled it up. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Cream."

Mayhem pulled off his mask and looked about with his own eyes. For an archaeological trove, there was a lot to be seen. But, as the doctor had said herself, nothing really good.

Evelyn walked over and handed him the coffee, taking a short look at him. "You don't look like what I expected you to."

He glanced at her sideways.

"I don't mean that in a bad way."

"Good," he said and took a drink of the coffee.

"You're a strange man for a thief. Normally we just get guys sneaking in here, trying to grab something they can put up for quick cash on the internet." She set down her cup and picked up the largest piece of what had once been a colorfully painted pottery vessel. "I remember the day Maurius turned this one up." A smile touched her lips, a genuine smile. We all oohed and ahhed and wished it weren't broken. But it will eventually get pieced back together."

"And then what?"

"Mmmm...CAAF will probably sell it to a collector. That's how they get the funding in the first place. It's sorta like officially sanctioned pot robbery, but at least it all gets documented. That's the main thing to me. We gain the knowledge before the artifacts are gone. And we know where they go."

"This is good coffee," Mayhem said. "I should at least take a couple of bags of it when I go too."

"You can take one. The rest are mine, well, CAAF's, but they'll soon be mine."

Mayhem grinned. "What would you do to stop me? I'm armed and dangerous. What's to stop me from taking anything?"

She laughed. "Like I said, help yourself to anything you want."

And then he looked at her for the first time—really looked at her.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Dr. Evelyn Rosenborn looked up from the work table where she was carefully cleaning shards of pottery as the helicopter came down into the clearing, a strange looking helicopter, with sleek lines and dark paint. "Well, I wonder who that could be?" she said teasingly to the young man working beside her at the same task.

She set down her brushes, washed the dust from her hands, and gave her hair a quick combing.

Evelyn walked toward the visitor as the pilot climbed out of the helicopter. "Hello!" she called, a wide smile across her face. The man from the helicopter wore khaki pants and a white bush jacket. "I've missed you." She reached forward and embraced him, kissing him a couple times on the cheek.

The workers around the complex had stopped at their tasks and were gathering around. The arrival of the boss was always a joyful occasion. This was perhaps the only place in the world anyone was glad to see him.

Evelyn waved her hand at one of the workers. "Go tell Lupe the boss is here. Tell her to make something special for dinner. And tell Maria too." Orders given, she turned back to Mayhem. "Miles, I've missed you."

He smiled weakly. "Me too...sometimes."

She laughed and took his hand. "C'mon. I have to show you something." She pulled excitedly, but he did not move. And then she stopped and her cheer disappeared. "You...you're not hurt again? Are you?"

"Not much."

"Oh! I'm sorry...I didn't know." She felt genuinely distressed. How many times had he come to her sore and wounded? She cursed herself for not expecting it.

"I'm fine. Just don't make me run."

"All right dear. Come limp over to the temple."

Mayhem smiled and followed willingly. Her slim figure looked good in the khaki shorts she wore. It was hard to believe that the doctor was only a few years younger than he was. Age was being very kind to her.

She led him up to top of the temple and beneath the tent. It was the same tent he had first followed her under a year and a half ago, only it had been moved to the far end of the temple platform. The same blanket covered something inside the pit that had been excavated, and she pulled it back gently to reveal a pair of burials. These two appeared much as the first one, but earthenware pots circled the grave area, and there seemed to be more beads and some sort of a jade-plate headband across one of the skulls. "We've not been idle since you left."

"I can see that."

"From what forensics says, they seem to be a male and female couple. A little more recent of a burial than the one you saw with the scepter. We're thinking they might be minor nobility, or perhaps a high priest and his wife. Once we've removed them to the field house, forensics can give them a much better examination." She knelt beside the remains and began pointing out various things about the the burial and the theories as to why and how and what. And then she stopped and looked up at Mayhem. "I'm sorry. I'm boring you." she apologized.

He smiled at her. "It's what you do. I expect you to."

"You expect me to bore you?" she teased. Not caring what his answer was she took him by the hand again and kissed him on the lips. "You've probably had a long flight. Howsabout a drink and then a nap and then dinner?"

"I can't think of anything I'd enjoy more at this point."

-o-o-o-o-o-

That evening, the dig workers were all paid in advance for a week's work, given a small bottle of rum, and told to take a week-long holiday. The security staff, Evelyn's housekeeper, and the cook were all put down for double pay and given a larger bottle of rum. For the staff, this was a major advantage to the turnover in the management—unexpected paid vacations, four or five a year.

After dinner, Mayhem and Evelyn sat on the veranda drinking brandy and smoking thin cigars. "A representative from CAAF showed up here about two months ago, not long after you left." She took a sip of her drink. "He wanted to know what we were still doing here. I told him that we had a new sponsor but still had the same excavation permits from the government."

"Was he angry?"

"Eh, he was just the messenger. I'm sure that the Board of Directors wasn't happy to hear the message when he reported back though. They seem to think they have a right to everything dug out of this miserable little slice of the world."

"If they give you any trouble, let me know. I'll take care of it," he said with all seriousness.

She stubbed her cigar into the ash tray and snuggled up against him. "You're so sweet."

"I'm not sweet. I'm a vicious bastard with half a conscience. But there are things I care about."

"And I happen to be one of them."

"Keep telling yourself that."

She sat up and punched him playfully on the shoulder. "You don't have to be such a tough guy with me. It's just us here. And I don't think any less of you for having a little affection in your heart."

He blew a puff of smoke into the air, and then leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "It's been a long time since I've known anyone worth having a little affection for."

"I suppose. You're a mercenary. You bring out the worst in people."

"That's for sure."

"But not me. I think you bring out my best."

"Oh?"

"There are two things I care about, Miles Mayhem. My work and you. At first I just cared about my work. And then I found I cared about you too."

"Ehh. I'm just your nasty old auntie on whose good side you're trying to stay."

"I don't think I'd go so far as sleeping with my nasty old auntie to stay afloat."

"What about your nasty old uncle?"

She grinned at him as her hand toyed with the top button on his bush jacket, popping it open. "When's my nasty old uncle's bedtime? I think we should find out how willing I am."

Mayhem roared with laughter. "I love your perverse sense of humor."

"I have a gift for you," she said in a low voice.

"A gift?"

She nodded. Evelyn rose and went into the house, emerging shortly with a small locked box.

Mayhem set down his cigar and snifter and took the box from her. This was unexpected. He took the key she handed him and opened it.

There, on a layer of black cotton, rested a pair of golden earrings, three solid gold bracelets, and a heavy golden pendant in an avian shape. They were clearly Mayan in origin.

"There's your gold."

"Where did you get this?"

"Those two skeletons I showed you today? They went to the afterlife pretty well-dressed apparently. I've only documented this jewelry for my personal files—no one else knows about it, except for Heinz. So they're all yours."

"I can't believe you'd do this for me."

"You've done a lot for me, and isn't this what you wanted?"

Mayhem smiled at her. "I don't need these. But you do."

She looked at him with a puzzled expression. "I need them?"

He closed the box and locked it. "Go ahead and document them, and then make sure CAAF finds out. Donate them to a museum they don't like, if there is such a place."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course." He picked up his glass again and took a sip. "I have a gift for you too, ironically."

"Really?" And then she paused. "It's not that portable crane I was was talking about last time, is it? The one made by Komatsu? That would really would have helped up there on those two graves. They were under a rather large stone slab."

Mayhem laughed again. "You have to be the only woman I've ever known who would be thrilled to get heavy equipment for Valentine's Day." He shook his head, still chuckling. "Nope. This is something personal, just for you." He reached into his pocket and took out a small flocked velvet jewelry box.

"Seriously? This is for me?" She smiled as he put the box into her hand. Usually he brought her well-aged scotch or French chocolates. She smiled at him as she opened it, not looking at the gift box, but instead locking eyes with him. And when it was open, she ceremoniously looked down into it.

Even in the low light of the evening the diamonds glittered—six of them—divided into two earrings. "Miles," she gasped. "They're beautiful. I'm speechless."

He smiled in satisfaction. For some unexplainable reason he liked pleasing her. No one deserved that honor of him, except perhaps Vanessa. She was too valuable an agent to lose. Rax and Dagger and Bruno and all the others could go to hell for all he cared. Vanessa he would bend over backwards to please if he needed to. Besides, all the other agents listened to her, even if it wasn't their ears they were listening with. That tight jumpsuit she wore was worth its weight in gold.

Evelyn carefully removed the earrings from their velvet cushion and put them on. "I have to see what they look like," she said breathlessly, heading for the mirror inside to admire them.

"I was going to get you solitaires, but I thought they were just a bit too much for out here in the jungle," he called after her.

"You're probably right," she called back. It sounded as if she was undressing inside. And two minutes later, as he was refilling his glass of brandy, she stepped back out onto the veranda wearing a long red satin nightgown. She had removed the clip from her hair and now it spilled around her bared shoulders. She struck a pose against the doorframe, leaning her head back and dangling her hair seductively. A slipper-shod foot slid teasingly up the doorframe. "These earrings are just what I needed to finish this outfit. You must have known."

He looked her up and down approvingly. "Where did you get a gown like that all the way out here?"

"Mail order is wonderful, isn't it? Nor rain nor sleet nor snow nor ten inches of mud in the wet season..."

"You look really good," he complimented. "And here I thought you didn't wear anything other than khaki shorts and camp shirts." And then he patted his knee with a leer. "Come sit here with your nasty old uncle."

-o-o-o-o-o-

Midnight came, and Mayhem found himself out on the veranda again, staring across the plaza at the temple. Nearby, Switchblade sat under camouflage netting, the helicopter hidden from the air. A light burned in the office, and through the gauzy screen he could see Heinz at his desk bent over paperwork. Mayhem would have loved to hire him to do VENOM's books—Heinz had a real talent for 'creative' accountancy. The man was a master of financial evasion and cover-up. But that would mean stealing him away from Evelyn.

It seemed strange, being the "good guy" on this little patch of ground, what was once a minor Mayan city and now a patch of barely passable jungle. Bungled information had led to his first trip here, an attempt to steal something completely misrepresented, only to meet Dr. Rosenborn and her frustrations and her devotion to her work. There was something about it, something about her, that completely charmed him, something that overcame his personal needs and personal demons. Before he knew it, he found himself writing out a big fat check to her in order to continue the work at Tal'chun. And what had he gotten in return? Three bags of Guatemalan coffee.

More checks followed, and in exchange the excavation became his retreat. Between terrorizing the free world and planning his next assault, he would come here to relax, to unwind, to heal. Dr. Rosenborn had at first given him a wide berth even though he took a room in her house when he was there. But soon on his visits they were spending more time together, dining together and touring the ruins, even taking the bumpy hour-long drive into town to that seafood restaurant on the beach. And soon it was obvious there was a lot of chemistry between them that they had been denying. For decades Mayhem had thought himself without need of a woman's company. But here, he found it a real pleasure. She and his funding of the excavation were his little secret, the one place he was a good guy. Not even his VENOM agents knew, except for Vanessa. Damn her feminine intuition and that tiny smudge of lipstick she had noticed on his coat.

And tomorrow he and Evelyn would go back to that beachside restaurant once again, and she would order the lobster and he would order that spicy shrimp dish, and they'd drink cold beer and pretend like there was nothing wrong in the world. And for the next few days, he would feel nothing but peace and contentment. He could forget all the stress and danger in his life. His thirst for power and need for adrenaline would become a distant mountain, blurred by the haze of the Guatemalan summer and Evelyn's affection for him.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Mrs. Hammreich in Switzerland on line one for you, Mr. Trakker."

"Thanks, Mary." Trakker picked up the phone and leaned back into his chair. He had only just arrived at the office and had not even gotten his jacket off. "Hello! Greta! It's been a while since I've heard from you."

"Hello, Mr. Trakker. I have something you might be interested in regarding Account MM. Do you have a moment?"

"I do. What's up?"

"Nothing new, but something continuing long enough to be perhaps a concern. Remember I mentioned about a year ago about payments going from Account MM to an account in Guatemala."

"Yes, something about archeology, right?"

"Yes, that's the one. The payments continued, so I looked up the receiving account."

"Drugs? Government front? Paramilitary?"

"Nope. Just as it says. Archeology. The Rosenborn Tal'chun Excavation Foundation is exactly what it says. They're a legitimate dig with all the right permits from the government. They're registered with all the right authorities. And there doesn't seem to be anything suspicious about them at all, except that every cent of their funding is coming from Account MM. Apparently their last sponsor, the CAAF, pulled out about a year and a half ago, but they were almost immediately picked up by you know who."

"Hmm. Interesting." Trakker picked up his coffee and cradled it as he thought. "Well send me what you have and I'll look into it myself. Anything else?"

"Nothing else new. Just the usual repair and rearming bills."

"All right. Thank you Greta."

"Anytime, Mr. Trakker."

A few hours later Trakker had Sector and Lopez at MASK headquarters poring over the documents, several maps, outdated books, and satellite photos; all three searching for anything of note on Tal'chun they could find. "Everything seems in order, Matt," Sector concluded. "There's nothing about this place that would warrant VENOM's attention."

"I just can't figure it out either. Given that he keeps providing monetary support for the dig, you'd think there was something he has them looking for, but there's absolutely nothing to suggest there's something even worth looking for. No legends. No historical figures of note. No lost treasures. It's just another ancient city being excavated."

Lopez, sitting at the computer, clicking through page after page of Guatemalan documents, spoke up. "They did just turn up a couple of intact burials and some rather nice pieces of Mayan jewelry about three weeks ago. But really not enough to be worth VENOM's involvement."

Trakker sighed and picked up the printout on Dr. Evelyn Rosenborn. "And the Rosenborn Foundation isn't much of anything either. Their administrator, Karl Heinz, isn't what you'd call a sterling character, but he doesn't seem to be anyone worth worrying about at this point."

"Maybe we should send Buddie down there to take a look around?" Sector suggested.

"That might be the best course of action at this point. I just can't justify sending in the team on what we have."

"Tell him we're sending him on a nice warm tropical vacation," Sector laughed.

"Just the thing in the heat of summer," the doctor added with a grin.

-o-o-o-o-o-

A week later Buddie Hawks pulled up in a jeep on the large gravelly plaza of Tal'chun, a forged passport and bogus credentials in his bag, a pretentiously sized camera hanging over his shoulder. Dr. Rosenborn came out to meet him right away. "Benjamin Harris?" she queried, holding out her hand.

"Dr. Rosenborn?" He took her hand and shook it with enthusiasm. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you, and likewise. We like reporters around here. I know you'll get a good article out of our little dig here, Mr. Harris."

"Please, just call me Buddie."

"All right, Buddie. I'll show you to your cabin and then I'll give you a tour of the place myself."

"Thank you. I'm looking forward to it." He lifted up the camera and took a few quick initial shots of the area—enough to look like a serious journalist.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Hawks pulled off the main road and onto a battered logging road, parking the jeep a little ways up it, out of view from the main thoroughfare. From his satchel he took the laptop computer and hooked it into the Jeep's power and the fold-out antenna/transmitter. "Computer, open a satellite connection to MASK Headquarters." In a few minutes he had Trakker on the line.

"So how's the tropical vacation going?"

"Great," groaned Hawks. "I love the mosquitoes. And the humidity? It's like getting a steam treatment at a spa every day, that lasts all day."

"Wish I was there," Trakker teased. "So what have you found out?"

"Well it's just like all the information said. The excavation is completely legit. But...there is a snake in paradise."

"What have you learned about this snake?"

"Mayhem shows up here every few months. Just him. None of the other agents. And he hangs out here for a week or two. It seems that he and Dr. Rosenborn have a little something romantic going on between them."

"Mayhem's got a girlfriend?" Scott asked, hanging over his father's shoulder. And then he started laughing like a chattering squirrel.

"Apparently so. He comes in, spends a week with the doctor while all the workers get a paid holiday. And then he's off again. It seems that he usually comes here not too long after MASK has shut him down for something. I looked over our mission history and when the checks have come through here and there's a definite pattern."

"And that's it? Nothing about digging up a treasure hoard or some Mayan god or a mythical artifact?"

"Nothing like that at all."

"Well I suppose a girlfriend's worth his time there."

"She's quite a woman. The workers all like her and she's got a great sense of humor. And she's completely devoted to this excavation. Oh, and you'll love this, Matt. She can read the Mayan hieroglyphs too. I dunno what a nice girl like her sees in a guy like him, besides money."

"They say that love is blind. Well, finish up your journalism and come on home."

"Yeah," jumped in Scott. "Work's piling up at the gas station."

"You mean you haven't been taking care of it for me, Scott?"

"I would, but Dad won't let me operate the lift," he pouted.

"All right. I'll be back soon to take care of things, since my vacation here's just about over."

-o-o-o-o-o-

"He's here," said Hawks. "The snake has returned to the nest." Benjamin Harris had gone back down to Tal'chun for more photos and some side trips to a few other nearby archaeological sites, coincidentally not more than a couple days after MASK had foiled a VENOM plot in northern Africa. Mayhem followed by two days. "He just flew in this morning in Switchblade."

"Excellent. Just as expected." Trakker rested his elbows on the edge of the desk and folded his hands together. "Is it just him?"

"Just him and Switchblade. No other agents."

"We'll be there tomorrow afternoon. Keep track of him as best you can."

"Won't be hard. He and the doctor seem to be joined at the hip. Besides, she'll probably want to introduce him to me."

"So they really are together."

"Yeah. She was all smiles to see him, and so were the workers. They all know where the money comes from. But no one here seems to know who he really is."

"All right. We'll bring Firecracker and your mask down for you."

"Thanks. I have to get back to the complex. I have a date with Maria tonight."

"Maria?"

"Dr. Rosenborn's maid. She's the one that told me all about Mayhem and the doctor."

Trakker laughed. "Must be something in the water down there. First Mayhem and now you. Well all right, but just be home by midnight, Cinderella. We'll need you tomorrow."

"Don't worry," he assured Trakker. "I'll be in bed well before midnight, if you know what I mean."

Trakker groaned and shook his head. "I'll signal your watch about and hour before we land and you can meet us at the airstrip."

"All right. See you tomorrow. Signing off."

-o-o-o-o-o-

MASK rolled into the plaza just as Evelyn and Mayhem were finishing lunch on the veranda. "MASK!" Mayhem choked, standing so quickly he knocked his chair over backwards.

"What is it, Miles?" Evelyn asked. "Who are they?"

"Enemies," he snarled. "Somehow they've found me here. I have to get out of here!" He ran into the house, grabbed his travel bag, and leaned back out the doorway. "Evelyn. Go talk to them. Distract them so I can get to my helicopter."

"What do I say?"

"Anything. Ask them if they'd like a tour. Ask them for a donation or something. Just buy me a little time."

Trembling, she left the house and walked across the plaza, screwing up her courage. "Okay Evelyn," she whispered to herself. "Pretend they're just like everyone else. They're here to see the dig and take pictures."

Approaching the vehicles, she put on her big public smile and waved. The man on the green motorcycle was dressed in a yellow jumpsuit, complete with a helmet much as Mayhem's gang wore that first time he had come to Tal'chun. "Hello! May I help you?" Two more masked men sat in the tall orange truck.

The door of the red car swung upwards and another man got out, this one wearing a red and grey jumpsuit, faceless as well. "Hello. We're just here looking for someone."

Evelyn's throat tightened. Stall he said...stall for time. "Who are you looking for? There aren't many people around here today. Everyone's on holiday. Unless you're here to see Heinz."

"We're actually looking for..."

"There he is!" shouted MacLean, cutting off Trakker. He had been keeping his eye on Switchblade, and there was Mayhem, making a run for the improvised hangar.

The vehicles around her roared to life, and Evelyn stood helplessly, praying it had been enough time.

Firecracker wheeled around, careening across the gravel plaza, pulling up between Mayhem and Switchblade just as he got into the hangar. Mayhem ran around behind them before MacLean and Hawks could get out.

The cockpit opened automatically at the approach of its pilot. Mayhem climbed in quickly, but not quickly enough. MacLean had him by one leg, trying to pull him down.

Mayhem cursed, reached into the cockpit, and grabbed a pistol. How had they found him? Had someone sold him out? Cocking it, he fired off a hasty shot at his captor, grazing the man's shoulder. MacLean let go and rolled underneath Switchblade, the closest cover to be had. Gracelessly, Mayhem fell into the pilot's seat and started up the engine as he fired off a couple more shots at the other agent next to the truck. He settled into the seat and his mask dropped automatically onto his head. The canopy closed and Switchblade was airborne amidst a volley of laser fire from the MASK vehicles in the plaza.

"After him!" commanded Trakker. "If we're going to catch him we need to shoot him down before he can switch to jet mode!" MASK had only one vehicle that could match Switchblade's airspeed, and Slingshot was not there.

Firefly, Condor, and Thunderhawk took to the air amidst return fire from Mayhem. As the three rose, Mayhem, seeing himself well outnumbered and outgunned, decided to run. He ceased the firefight and pushed hard for the quick speed he needed to make the transformation. He knew it as much as Trakker did, MASK's flying vehicles were slow in the air—highly maneuverable and well armed, but slow. And then someone landed a crippling hit on the tail rotor. But it was too late for them. The jets fired up and the blades retracted, and he was gone. Within moments the VENOM helicopter was a black dot on the horizon.

Denied their prize, Trakker disgustedly ordered the team, save Hawks, back to the transport. How could Mayhem have gotten away so quickly and easily? Trakker, in Thunderhawk, landed in the plaza.

This time, Evelyn was not smiling as she approached. And she had a rifle in her hands now, a rifle she pointed at Trakker and Hawks menacingly.

"Easy there. We're only here for Mayhem. And he's escaped."

"I know," she spat. "And you'd better leave too, before things get any worse for you around here."

Matt sighed. He couldn't really blame her—they had come after her boyfriend. Perhaps she knew already who they were. Perhaps she already knew who Mayhem was. It was time to find out. "Dr. Rosenborn. I'm with the Peaceful Nations Alliance. Do you know who that man is?"

The rifle did not lower. "Why ask me? You seem to know already."

"He's Miles Mayhem, an enemy of the free world. A terrorist and a mercenary for hire."

"Tell me something I don't know." Two men had emerged from the field house, also with rifles aimed at them. Hawks immediately recognized them as two of the security guards for the site. Heinz was coming out of the office with a pistol in hand.

"I want to know his involvement here."

"You aren't in much a position to ask questions."

"Why is he here?"

"Because he's funding this dig." She tossed her graying hair from her eyes.

"Tell me something I don't know."

And at that Evelyn laughed. He'd thrown her own words back at her. The rifle lowered. "That's it. Funding. If it weren't for him, this little ancient city would already be halfway reclaimed by the jungle. His money buys us the equipment we need. It puts more information into the history books. It keeps twenty-four people gainfully employed. It puts food on the table and clothes on the backs of thirty-odd children. In the village nearby, we've built a schoolroom and a doctor's office with his money."

She slung the rifle over her shoulder. "So whatever he is outside of Tal'chun, so be it. But here, in this little chunk of rainforest, he's the reason we have something to live for, and we are prepared to defend that—even against the PNA."

Trakker was speechless. Somehow this woman had turned Mayhem into a contributor, an employer, a benefactor, someone not so unlike himself.

"So get back into that flying car and fly away. Next time, you won't find the welcome quite so friendly."

At a loss, and somewhat humbled, Trakker and Hawks did so, departing without a further word.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"So what are you going to do?" Hawks asked Trakker when Tal'chun was far behind them.

Trakker sighed. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Nothing?"

"My first reaction was to take over funding for the Tal'chun excavation myself. But then I realized something. Every dollar of Mayhem's that goes into that excavation is one less dollar spent for evil. That woman has him in her control, and she's not a bad person herself. She just wants her little Mayan city in the jungle, and will do what it takes to keep it."

"I guess she just likes the bad boy type. Some women just do. Sometimes for the excitement. Sometimes because they think they can reform him."

"I suppose." Trakker chuckled. "Speaking of bad boy, how was your date last night?"

Hawks moaned. "It was nice, but there's no future for Maria and I. I have my career as a journalist to think about, and she washes Mayhem's shorts when he's here."

"Talk about doing his dirty work."

"Her mama's a good cook though."

"Her mama?"

"Yep. We went to her house in the village where she lives with her parents. We had dinner and played cards and walked around the village."

"You really are the bad boy, aren't you?"

Hawks leaned back into the seat with his hands behind his head. "You bet. She said that the next time, if I was ever back, she'd take me to this monastery up in the hills. Apparently there're some really nice frescoes up there."

Trakker smiled, his bad mood clearing. He knew that MASK would not be back.

-o-o-o-o-o-

M.A.S.K. and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of DIC Enterprises, Inc and Kenner Toys. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.


	2. Mayhem's Mistress Commentary

Mayhem's Mistress Commentary

-o-o-o-o-o-

I think of this story as almost a parody of a MASK episode. There's no valuable or powerful artifact at the exotic ancient location, MASK gets chased off by a middle-aged woman, and Mayhem turns out to be the protagonist. Heck, he even gets the girl.

Different, no?

But different is good. That's what fanfiction is for.

I loved writing this, especially the scene in the field house. Doctor Rosenborn is at her wits' end, about to lose the only thing she loves. Mayhem is trying to to salvage anything he can out of a failed treasure hunting expedition. And out of the despair and frustration and loss they manage to create a win-win situation for both of them.

I wanted to also include a "Matt's sources" scene. How many MASK episodes start with something to the effect of "sources say that VENOM is operating in the area"? Quite a few. This time we get to see the full story, from the horse's mouth to the preliminary investigation to the sending of someone to check it out to the arrival of the team.

And included (for my boyfriend) is "the coffee version." A warning to you authors—don't let an espresso junkie beta-read for you.


	3. Mayhem's Pick-Me-Up

Mayhem's Pick-Me-Up

So my boyfriend was beta-reading the first part of "Mayhem's Mistress", and he started joking about the coffee in the field house scene. So I created this version of the story for him. Same action, same plot, MUCH more caffeine...all your favorite characters obsessed with coffee! The further it goes, the worse it gets.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Coffee is a major plot point."

-Mike Nelson, MST3K Episode 609: "The Skydivers"

-o-o-o-o-o-

Dr. Evelyn Rosenborn looked up from the work table where she was hurriedly cleaning shards of pottery as the helicopter came down into the plaza—a strange looking helicopter, with sleek lines and dark paint. "I wonder who that could be?"

She set down her brushes, washed the dust from her hands, and took a drink of her coffee, just as a tall black SUV and a dark purple car careened into the plaza. "Well this is odd."

Evelyn walked toward the visitors, her stomach twisting. What did CAAF want now? Were they going to take back the very last of the funding before she could pay the workers? Were they just going to throw her out of the Tal'chun before the week was up?

Drivers climbed out of the helicopter and the vehicles, two men and a woman wearing helmets that completely covered their heads and necks. "Hello! May I help you?" she called, at a complete loss as to who the visitors were. The man from the black SUV had an assault rifle slung across his back and of more concern, one in his hands. The man from the helicopter wore something of a military uniform that matched the helmet he wore.

The workers around the temple complex had paused from their coffee break to look at the visitors. Usually anyone coming from the outside looked either like journalists, government somebodies, or CAAF officials. These three looked like none of the above.

The man in the uniform stepped intimidatingly close to her. "Are you Dr. Rosenborn? In charge of the excavation here?" His voice was almost a growl.

"Yes, I'm Dr. Rosenborn." She held out her hand, but the man did not take it.

"Let me make this simple, Doctor. Word came to us that you've unearthed an object of great importance and power. You can either give it to me now, and no one gets hurt." He raised his hand in a fist. "Or we can take it by force."

For a moment she stared blankly at him. An object of great importance and power? What was he talking about? And then it hit her. She began to chuckle...and then laugh...and then cry...and then laugh again.

The visitors were probably now staring blankly at her from beneath their masks.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, wiping the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. "It's been a rough week around here." She pushed her greying hair from her eyes and started to walk toward the stone temple at the edge of the plaza. "C'mon. I'll show you."

"Stay here, Dagger," the uniformed man commanded, and he and the woman followed Evelyn.

At the temple, they climbed the steep steps to a large platform about two stories above the plaza. Evelyn bent under the low tent erected atop the stone surface. "So, did CAAF send you?"

"CAAF?"

"I guess not. So you're just thieves then," she snorted. "Not that it makes any difference to me at this point."

They followed her under the tent, finding a large section of the stone platform removed, and the area beneath excavated. An old blanket covered something toward the center. Evelyn jumped down into the pit and pulled away the blanket, revealing what appeared to be a grave and a partial skeleton, clearly quite ancient, and clearly quite eroded by the forces of nature. The remains of beaded necklaces and a row of jade plates stood out. "Well, there it is."

"What is?"

"Your object of great importance and power." Her tone was almost mocking.

The two masked visitors looked at the grave, and back at her, and then back at the grave.

Evelyn pointed. "Those carved jade plates, they used to adorn a scepter, the sort held by major dignitaries in this area. It was the symbol of power and authority over the area. And there's a complete set of plates there."

"That's it?"

"Just that, and his coffee mug." She pointed to an earthenware pot in the grave positioned at about waist level. "So go ahead and take them. They're worth something to a collector, probably about ten to fifteen thousand dollars."

"That's all!?" said the woman incredulously. "We came all the way out here for that?! I'm so going to strangle Dagger for this," she snarled.

"Not enough for you? Well at this point go ahead and take whatever you want. I just don't care."

The pair looked at her as she began sobbing into her sleeve.

"What's going on here?" The man turned to face her, his mask hiding the puzzlement on his face.

"The end of another chapter in my life." She wiped off her eyes, and smiled. "Come to the field house. You can pick out something pretty to take home as a souvenir."

She hopped up and left the tent, and then walked down the steps toward a longish wooden building set up on the far end of the plaza.

As they left the tent, the uniformed one looked over at the woman. "You go strangle Dagger. I'll go see what she's got."

Inside the field house, Mayhem was most disappointed. There were long tables covered from end to end with bits of pottery, a few piles of beads, some oxidized and unrecognizable metal objects, and a few boxes of human bones.

"Help yourself," Evelyn said. "I'd almost rather you took it than turning it all over to CAAF on Friday. She went to a table at the side and poured herself a cup of coffee. "Heck, I would rather you took it than they did. Just to spite them."

"Anything immediately valuable?" Mayhem asked, almost sheepishly. "Gold? Jewels?"

Evelyn leaned back against the wall next to the coffee service and shook her head. "We found a couple of gold earrings and a nice bracelet on the guy we unearthed last month. But CAAF took those already."

Mayhem walked through the rows of artifacts pulled from the ruins of Tal'chun, shaking his head. Not even the scanners in his mask were detecting anything of interest.

"I know," she said almost apologetically. "Nothing really good here. That's why CAAF is shutting us down."

"Who is this CAAF you hate so much?"

"Central American Archaeological Fund. I was able to get funding from them for this dig when the university pulled out. CAAF is like the nasty old aunt you pretend to like to stay in her will. Well, this niece and her little project was voted not interesting enough and not profitable enough, and I've been written out of that will."

"Nice analogy."

"It says a lot, doesn't it."

"It explains the bitterness."

She drank the coffee as if somehow it would calm her, and then poured another cup. "Want some coffee? It's the good Guatemalan stuff." And then she laughed again. "I think I'll make sure there are a couple bags of it in my suitcase when I go."

"I could use a cup."

She pulled out a clean mug and filled it up. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Cream."

Mayhem pulled off his mask and looked about with his own eyes. For an archaeological trove, there was a lot to be seen. But, as the doctor had said herself, nothing really good.

Evelyn walked over and handed him the coffee, taking a short look at him. "You don't look like what I expected you to."

He glanced at her sideways.

"I don't mean that in a bad way."

"Good," he said and took a drink of the coffee.

"You're a strange man for a thief. Normally we just get guys sneaking in here, trying to grab something they can put up for quick cash on the internet." She set down her cup and picked up the largest piece of what had once been a colorfully painted pottery vessel. "I remember the day Maurius turned this one up." A smile touched her lips, a genuine smile. We all oohed and ahhed and wished it weren't broken. It's a Mayan ceremonial coffee urn. But it will eventually get pieced back together."

"And then what?"

"Mmmm...CAAF will probably sell it to a collector. That's how they get the funding in the first place. It's sorta like officially sanctioned pot robbery, but at least it all gets documented. That's the main thing to me. We gain the knowledge before the artifacts are gone. And we know where they go."

"This is good coffee," Mayhem said. "I should at least take a couple of bags of it when I go too."

"You can take one. The rest are mine, well, CAAF's, but they'll soon be mine."

Mayhem grinned. "What would you do to stop me? I'm armed and dangerous. What's to stop me from taking anything?"

She laughed. "Like I said, help yourself to anything you want."

And then he looked at her for the first time—really looked at her.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Dr. Evelyn Rosenborn looked up from the work table where she was carefully cleaning shards of pottery as the helicopter came down into the clearing, a strange looking helicopter, with sleek lines and dark paint. "Well, I wonder who that could be?" she said teasingly to the young man working beside her at the same task.

She set down her brushes, washed the dust from her hands, and gave her hair a quick combing.

Evelyn walked toward the visitor as the pilot climbed out of the helicopter. "Hello!" she called, a wide smile across her face. The man from the helicopter wore khaki pants and a white bush jacket. "I've missed you." She reached forward and embraced him, kissing him a couple times on the cheek.

The workers around the complex had stopped at their tasks and were gathering around. The arrival of the boss was always a joyful occasion. This was perhaps the only place in the world anyone was glad to see him.

Evelyn waved her hand at one of the workers. "Go tell Lupe the boss is here. Tell her to make a fresh pot of coffee. And tell Maria too." Orders given, she turned back to Mayhem. "Miles, I've missed you."

He smiled weakly. "Me too...sometimes."

She laughed and took his hand. "C'mon. I have to show you something." She pulled excitedly, but he did not move. And then she stopped and her cheer disappeared. "You...you're not hurt again? Are you?"

"Not much."

"Oh! I'm sorry...I didn't know." She felt genuinely distressed. How many times had he come to her sore and wounded? She cursed herself for not expecting it.

"I'm fine. Just don't make me run."

"All right dear. Come limp over to the temple."

Mayhem smiled and followed willingly. Her slim figure looked good in the khaki shorts she wore. It was hard to believe that the doctor was only a few years younger than he was. Age was being very kind to her.

She led him up to top of the temple and beneath the tent. It was the same tent he had first followed her under a year and a half ago, only it had been moved to the far end of the temple platform. The same blanket covered something inside the pit that had been excavated, and she pulled it back gently to reveal a pair of burials. These two appeared much as the first one, but earthenware pots circled the grave area, and there seemed to be more beads and some sort of a jade-plate headband across one of the skulls. "We've not been idle since you left."

"I can see that."

"From what forensics says, they seem to be a male and female couple. A little more recent of a burial than the one you saw with the scepter. We're thinking they might be minor nobility, or perhaps a high priest and his wife. Once we've removed them to the field house, forensics can give them a much better examination." She knelt beside the remains and began pointing out various things about the the burial and the theories as to why and how and what. And then she stopped and looked up at Mayhem. "I'm sorry. I'm boring you." she apologized.

He smiled at her. "It's what you do. I expect you to."

"You expect me to bore you?" she teased. Not caring what his answer was she took him by the hand again and kissed him on the lips. "You've probably had a long flight. Howsabout an iced mocha latte and then a nap and then dinner?"

"I can't think of anything I'd enjoy more at this point."

-o-o-o-o-o-

That evening, the dig workers were all paid in advance for a week's work, given a small bag of coffee beans, and told to take a week-long holiday. The security staff, Evelyn's housekeeper, and the cook were all put down for double pay and given a larger sack of coffee beans. For the staff, this was a major advantage to the turnover in the management—unexpected paid vacations, four or five a year.

After dinner, Mayhem and Evelyn sat on the veranda drinking cappuccino and smoking thin cigars. "A representative from CAAF showed up here about two months ago, not long after you left." She took a sip of her drink. "He wanted to know what we were still doing here. I told him that we had a new sponsor but still had the same excavation permits from the government."

"Was he angry?"

"Eh, he was just the messenger. I'm sure that the Board of Directors wasn't happy to hear the message when he reported back though. They seem to think they have a right to everything dug out of this miserable little slice of the world."

"If they give you any trouble, let me know. I'll take care of it," he said with all seriousness.

She stubbed her cigar into the ash tray and snuggled up against him. "You're so sweet."

"I'm not sweet. I'm a java junkie with half a conscience. But there are things I care about."

"And I happen to be one of them."

"Keep telling yourself that."

She sat up and punched him playfully on the shoulder. "You don't have to be such a tough guy with me. It's just us here. And I don't think any less of you for having a little affection in your heart."

He blew a puff of smoke into the air, and then leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "It's been a long time since I've known anyone worth having a little affection for."

"I suppose. You're a mercenary. You bring out the worst in people."

"That's for sure."

"But not me. I think you bring out my best."

"Oh?"

"There are two things I care about, Miles Mayhem. My work and you. At first I just cared about my work. And then I found I cared about you too."

"Ehh. I'm just your nasty old auntie on whose good side you're trying to stay."

"I don't think I'd go so far as sleeping with my nasty old auntie to stay afloat."

"What about your nasty old uncle?"

She grinned at him as her hand toyed with the top button on his bush jacket, popping it open. "When's my nasty old uncle's bedtime? I think we should find out how willing I am."

Mayhem roared with laughter. "I love your perverse sense of humor."

"I have a gift for you," she said in a low voice.

"A gift?"

She nodded. Evelyn rose and went into the house, emerging shortly with a small locked box.

Mayhem set down his cigar and cup and took the box from her. This was unexpected. He took the key she handed him and opened it.

There, on a layer of black cotton, rested a pair of golden earrings, three solid gold bracelets, and a heavy golden pendant in an avian shape. They were clearly Mayan in origin.

"There's your gold."

"Where did you get this?"

"Those two skeletons I showed you today? They went to the afterlife pretty well-dressed apparently. I've only documented this jewelry for my personal files—no one else knows about it, except for Heinz. So they're all yours."

"I can't believe you'd do this for me."

"You've done a lot for me, and isn't this what you wanted?"

Mayhem smiled at her. "I don't need these. But you do."

She looked at him with a puzzled expression. "I need them?"

He closed the box and locked it. "Go ahead and document them, and then make sure CAAF finds out. Donate them to a museum they don't like, if there is such a place."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course." He picked up his cup again and took a sip. "I have a gift for you too, ironically."

"Really?" And then she paused. "It's not that Italian espresso machine I was was talking about last time, is it? The one made by Gaggia?"

He shook his head. "Nope. This is something personal, just for you." He reached into his pocket and took out a small flocked velvet jewelry box.

"Seriously? This is for me?" She smiled as he put the box into her hand. Usually he brought her flavoring syrups or French chocolates. She smiled at him as she opened it, not looking at the gift box, but instead locking eyes with him. And when it was open, she ceremoniously looked down into it.

Even in the low light of the evening the diamonds glittered—six of them—divided into two earrings. "Miles," she gasped. "They're beautiful. I'm speechless."

He smiled in satisfaction. For some unexplainable reason he liked pleasing her. No one deserved that honor of him, except perhaps Vanessa. She was too valuable an agent to lose. Rax and Dagger and Bruno and all the others could go to hell for all he cared. Besides, she made a really good cup of coffee.

Evelyn carefully removed the earrings from their velvet cushion and put them on. "I have to see what they look like," she said breathlessly, heading for the mirror inside to admire them.

"I was going to get you solitaires, but I thought they were just a bit too much for out here in the jungle," he called after her.

"You're probably right," she called back. It sounded as if she was undressing inside. And two minutes later, as he was finishing his cappuccino, she stepped back out onto the veranda wearing a long red satin nightgown. She had removed the clip from her hair and now it spilled around her bared shoulders. She struck a pose against the doorframe, leaning her head back and dangling her hair seductively. A slipper-shod foot slid teasingly up the doorframe. "These earrings are just what I needed to finish this outfit. You must have known."

He looked her up and down approvingly. "Where did you get a gown like that all the way out here?"

"Mail order is wonderful, isn't it? Nor rain nor sleet nor snow nor ten inches of mud in the wet season..."

"You look really good," he complimented. "And here I thought you didn't wear anything other than khaki shorts and camp shirts." And then he patted his knee with a leer. "Come sit here with your nasty old uncle."

-o-o-o-o-o-

Midnight came, and Mayhem found himself out on the veranda again, staring across the plaza at the temple. Nearby, Switchblade sat under camouflage netting, the helicopter hidden from the air. A light burned in the office, and through the gauzy screen he could see Heinz at his desk bent over paperwork. He wondered if perhaps Heinz had a pot of coffee going.

It seemed strange, being the "good guy" on this little patch of ground, what was once a minor Mayan city and now a patch of barely passable jungle. Bungled information had led to his first trip here, an attempt to steal something completely misrepresented, only to meet Dr. Rosenborn and her frustrations and her devotion to her work. There was something about it, and something about her love of coffee, that completely charmed him, something that overcame his personal needs and personal demons. Before he knew it, he found himself writing out a big fat check to her in order to continue the work at Tal'chun. And what had he gotten in return? Three bags of Guatemalan coffee.

More checks followed, and in exchange the excavation became his retreat. Between terrorizing the free world and planning his next assault, he would come here to relax, to unwind, to heal. Dr. Rosenborn had at first given him a wide berth even though he took a room in her house when he was there, since that was where the espresso machine was. But soon on his visits they were spending more time together, dining together and touring the ruins, even taking the bumpy hour-long drive into town to that seafood restaurant on the beach. And soon it was obvious there was a lot of caffeine-based chemistry between them that they had been denying. For decades Mayhem had thought himself without need of a woman's company. But here, he found it a real pleasure. She and his funding of the excavation were his little secret, the one place he was a good guy. Not even his VENOM agents knew, except for Vanessa. Damn her feminine intuition and that smudge of lipstick she had noticed on his thermos.

And tomorrow he and Evelyn would go back to that beachside restaurant once again, and she would order the lobster and he would order that spicy shrimp dish, and they'd drink iced coffee and pretend like there was nothing wrong in the world. And for the next few days, he would feel nothing but peace and contentment. He could forget all the stress and danger in his life. His thirst for power and need for adrenaline would become a distant mountain, blurred by the haze of the Guatemalan summer and Evelyn's shared affection for chocolate-covered espresso beans.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Mrs. Hammreich in Switzerland on line one for you, Mr. Trakker."

"Thanks, Mary." Trakker picked up the phone and poured himself a cup of joe. He had only just arrived at the office and had not even gotten his jacket off. "Hello! Greta! It's been a while since I've heard from you."

"Hello, Mr. Trakker. I have something you might be interested in regarding Account MM. Do you have a moment?"

"I do. What's up?"

"Nothing new, but something continuing long enough to be perhaps a concern. Remember I mentioned about a year ago about payments going from Account MM to an account in Guatemala."

"Yes, something about archeology, right?"

"Yes, that's the one. The payments continued, so I looked up the receiving account."

"Drugs? Government front? Paramilitary?"

"Nope. Just as it says. Archeology. The Rosenborn Tal'chun Excavation Foundation is exactly what it says. They're a legitimate dig with all the right permits from the government. They're registered with all the right authorities. And there doesn't seem to be anything suspicious about them at all, except that every cent of their funding is coming from Account MM. Apparently their last sponsor, the CAAF, pulled out about a year and a half ago, but they were almost immediately picked up by you know who."

"Hmm. Interesting." Trakker picked up his coffee and cradled it as he thought. "Well send me what you have and I'll look into it myself. Anything else?"

"Nothing else new. Just the usual repair and rearming bills, and coffee bean shipments from Colombia."

"All right. Thank you Greta."

"Anytime, Mr. Trakker."

A few hours later Trakker had Sector and Lopez at MASK headquarters poring over the documents, several maps, outdated books, and satellite photos; all three searching for anything of note on Tal'chun they could find. "Everything seems in order, Matt," Sector concluded. "There's nothing about this place that would warrant VENOM's attention." Finding the coffee pot empty, he began to make some fresh.

"I just can't figure it out either. Given that he keeps providing monetary support for the dig, you'd think there was something he has them looking for, but there's absolutely nothing to suggest there's something even worth looking for. No legends. No historical figures of note. No lost treasures. It's just another ancient city being excavated."

Lopez, sitting at the computer, clicking through page after page of Guatemalan documents, spoke up. "They did just turn up a couple of intact burials and some rather nice pieces of Mayan jewelry about three weeks ago. But really not enough to be worth VENOM's involvement."

Trakker sighed and picked up the printout on Dr. Evelyn Rosenborn. "And the Rosenborn Foundation isn't much of anything either. Their administrator, Karl Heinz, isn't what you'd call a sterling character, but he doesn't seem to be anyone worth worrying about at this point."

"Maybe we should send Buddie down there to take a look around?" Sector suggested.

"That might be the best course of action at this point. I just can't justify sending in the team on what we have."

"Tell him we're sending him on a nice warm tropical vacation," Sector laughed.

"Just the thing in the heat of summer," the doctor added with a grin.

"And not a Frappuccino in sight."

-o-o-o-o-o-

A week later Buddie Hawks pulled up in a jeep on the large gravelly plaza of Tal'chun, a forged passport and bogus credentials in his bag, a pretentiously sized thermos hanging over his shoulder. Dr. Rosenborn came out to meet him right away. "Benjamin Harris?" she queried, holding out her hand.

"Dr. Rosenborn?" He took her hand and shook it with enthusiasm. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you, and likewise. We like reporters around here. I know you'll get a good article out of our little dig here, Mr. Harris."

"Please, just call me Buddie."

"All right, Buddie. I'll show you to your cabin and then I'll give you a tour of the place myself."

"Thank you. I'm looking forward to it." He opened up the thermos and took a long drink—enough to look like a serious journalist strung out on caffeine.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Hawks pulled off the main road and onto a battered logging road, parking the jeep a little ways up it, out of view from the main thoroughfare. From his satchel he took the laptop computer and hooked it into the Jeep's power and the fold-out antenna/transmitter. "Computer, open a satellite connection to MASK Headquarters." In a few minutes he had Trakker on the line.

"So how's the tropical vacation going?"

"Great," groaned Hawks. "I love the mosquitoes. And the humidity? It's like getting a steam treatment at a spa every day, that lasts all day. The coffee's good though."

"Wish I was there. Alex keeps buying Folgers here at headquarters," Trakker sighed. "So what have you found out?"

"Well it's just like all the information said. The excavation is completely legit. But...there is a snake in paradise."

"What have you learned about this snake?"

"Mayhem shows up here every few months. Just him. None of the other agents. And he hangs out here for a week or two. It seems that he and Dr. Rosenborn have a little something romantic going on between them."

"Mayhem's got a girlfriend?" Scott asked, hanging over his father's shoulder. And then he started laughing like a chattering squirrel.

"Apparently so. He comes in, spends a week drinking cafe au lait with the doctor while all the workers get a paid holiday. And then he's off again. It seems that he usually comes here not too long after MASK has shut him down for something. I looked over our mission history and when the checks have come through here and there's a definite pattern."

"And that's it? Nothing about digging up a treasure hoard or some Mayan god or a mythical artifact?"

"Nothing like that at all."

"Well I suppose a girlfriend's worth his time there."

"She's quite a woman. The workers all like her and she's got a great sense of humor. And she's completely devoted to this excavation. Oh, and you'll love this, Matt. She roasts her own beans. I dunno what a nice girl like her sees in a guy like him, besides money."

"They say that love is blind. Well, finish up your journalism and come on home."

"Yeah," jumped in Scott. "Work's piling up at the gas station."

"You mean you haven't been taking care of it for me, Scott?"

"I would, but T-Bob makes lousy coffee," he pouted.

"All right. I'll be back soon to take care of things, since my vacation here's just about over. And see if you can get Bruce to re-program T-Bob into a barista."

-o-o-o-o-o-

"He's here," said Hawks. "The snake has returned to the nest." Benjamin Harris had gone back down to Tal'chun for more photos and some side trips to a few other nearby archaeological sites, coincidentally not more than a couple days after MASK had foiled a VENOM plot to gain control of the coffee reserves in Sumatra. Mayhem followed by two days. "He just flew in this morning in Switchblade."

"Excellent. Just as expected." Trakker rested his elbows on the edge of the desk and folded his hands together. "Is it just him?"

"Just him and this gorgeous automatic Italian espresso machine he brought with him. The whole dig's been hyped up on lattes since they plugged it in."

"We'll be there tomorrow afternoon. Keep track of him as best you can."

"Won't be hard. He and the doctor can't pull themselves away from the new machine. Besides, she'll probably want to teach me to use it."

"All right. We'll bring Firecracker and your mask down for you."

"Thanks. I have to get back to the complex. I have a date with Maria tonight."

"Maria?"

"Dr. Rosenborn's maid. She's the one that told me all about Mayhem and the doctor."

Trakker laughed. "Must be something in the coffee down there. First Mayhem and now you. Well all right, but just be home by midnight, Cinderella. We'll need you tomorrow."

"Don't worry," he assured Trakker. "I'll be in bed well before midnight, though I won't be sleeping if you know what I mean."

Trakker groaned and shook his head. "Time for you to switch to decaf. I'll signal your watch about and hour before we land and you can meet us at the airstrip."

"All right. See you tomorrow. Signing off." Buddie shuddered. Decaf. What an abomination.

-o-o-o-o-o-

MASK rolled into the plaza just as Evelyn and Mayhem were finishing their afternoon coffee on the veranda. "MASK!" Mayhem choked, standing so quickly he knocked his chair over backwards.

"What is it, Miles?" Evelyn asked. "Who are they?"

"Enemies," he snarled. "Somehow they've found me here. I have to get out of here!" He ran into the house, grabbed his thermos, poured the last of the pot into it, and leaned back out the doorway. "Evelyn. Go talk to them. Distract them so I can get to my helicopter."

"What do I say?"

"Anything. Ask them if they'd like a tour. Ask them if they'd like a cappuccino or something. Just buy me a little time."

Trembling, she left the house and walked across the plaza, screwing up her courage. "Okay Evelyn," she whispered to herself. "Pretend they're just like everyone else. They're here to see the dig and take pictures."

Approaching the vehicles, she put on her big public smile and waved. The man on the green motorcycle was dressed in a yellow jumpsuit, complete with a helmet much as Mayhem's gang wore that first time he had come to Tal'chun. "Hello! May I help you?" Two more masked men sat in the tall orange truck.

The door of the red car swung upwards and another man got out, this one wearing a red and grey jumpsuit, faceless as well. "Hello. We're just here looking for someone."

Evelyn's throat tightened. Stall he said...stall for time. "Who are you looking for? There aren't many people around here today. Everyone's on holiday. Unless you're here to see the new espresso machine."

"We're actually looking for..."

"There he is!" shouted MacLean, cutting off Trakker. He had been keeping his eye on Switchblade, and there was Mayhem, making a run for the improvised hangar.

The vehicles around her roared to life, and Evelyn stood helplessly, praying it had been enough time.

Firecracker wheeled around, careening across the gravel plaza, pulling up between Mayhem and Switchblade just as he got into the hangar. Mayhem ran around behind them before MacLean and Hawks could get out.

The cockpit opened automatically at the approach of its pilot. Mayhem climbed in quickly, but not quickly enough. MacLean had him by one leg, trying to pull him down.

Mayhem cursed. How had they found him? Had someone sold him out? Turning, Mayhem beaned him with his thermos. MacLean let go and rolled underneath Switchblade, the closest cover to be had. Gracelessly, Mayhem fell into the pilot's seat and started up the engine as he threw the thermos at the other agent next to the truck, who instinctively dove to save it. He settled into the seat and his mask dropped automatically onto his head. The canopy closed and Switchblade was airborne amidst a volley of laser fire from the MASK vehicles in the plaza.

But it was too late for them. The jets fired up and the blades retracted, and he was gone. Within moments the VENOM helicopter was a black dot on the horizon.

Denied their prize, Trakker disgustedly ordered the team, save Hawks, back to the transport. How could Mayhem have gotten away so quickly and easily? Trakker, in Thunderhawk, landed in the plaza.

This time, Evelyn was not smiling as she approached. And she had a rifle in her hands now, a rifle she pointed at Trakker and Hawks menacingly.

"Easy there. We're only here for Mayhem. And he's escaped."

"I know," she spat. "And you'd better leave too, before things get any worse for you around here."

Matt sighed. He couldn't really blame her—they had come after her boyfriend. Perhaps she knew already who they were. Perhaps she already knew who Mayhem was. It was time to find out. "Dr. Rosenborn. I'm with the Peaceful Nations Alliance. Do you know who that man is?"

The rifle did not lower. "Why ask me? You seem to know already."

"He's Miles Mayhem, an enemy of the free world. A terrorist. A mercenary for hire."

"Tell me something I don't know." Two men had emerged from the field house, also with rifles aimed at them. Hawks immediately recognized them as two of the security guards for the site. Heinz was coming out of the office with a pistol in hand.

"I want to know his involvement here."

"You aren't in much a position to ask questions."

"Why is he here?"

"Because he's funding this dig." She tossed her graying hair from her eyes.

"Tell me something I don't know."

And at that Evelyn laughed. He'd thrown her own words back at her. The rifle lowered. "That's it. Funding. If it weren't for him, this little ancient city would already be halfway reclaimed by the jungle. His money buys us the equipment we need. It puts more information into the history books. It keeps twenty-four people gainfully employed. It puts food on the table and clothes on the backs of thirty-odd children. In the village nearby, we've built a Starbuck's franchise with his money."

She slung the rifle over her shoulder. "So whatever he is outside of Tal'chun, so be it. But here, in this little chunk of rainforest, he's the reason we have something to live for, and we are prepared to defend that—even against the PNA."

Trakker was speechless. Somehow this woman had turned Mayhem into a contributor, an employer, a benefactor, someone not so unlike himself.

"So get back into that flying car and fly away. Next time, you won't find the welcome quite so friendly."

At a loss, and somewhat humbled, Trakker and Hawks did so, departing without a further word.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"So what are you going to do?" Hawks asked Trakker when Tal'chun was far behind them.

"I'm going to pick up some better coffee for headquarters while we're down here."

"No, what are you going to do about Mayhem?"

"Oh! About Mayhem." Trakker sighed. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"Nothing?"

"My first reaction was to take over funding for the Tal'chun excavation myself. But then I realized something. Every dollar of Mayhem's that goes into that excavation is one less dollar spent for evil. That woman has him in her control, and she's not a bad person herself. She just wants her little Mayan city in the jungle, and will do what it takes to keep it."

"I guess she just likes the bad boy type. Some women just do. Sometimes for the excitement. Sometimes because they think they can reform him."

"I suppose." Trakker chuckled. "Speaking of bad boy, how was your date last night?"

Hawks moaned. "It was nice, but there's no future for Maria and I. She's a tea drinker. Her mama's a good cook though."

"Her mama?"

"Yep. We went to her house in the village where she lives with her parents. We had dinner and played cards and went to the Starbucks."

"You really are the bad boy, aren't you?"

Hawks leaned back into the seat with his hands behind his head. "You bet. She said that the next time, if I was ever back, she'd take me to this coffee plantation up in the hills."

Trakker smiled, his bad mood clearing. He knew that MASK would not be back...at least not until they needed more coffee beans.

-o-o-o-o-o-

M.A.S.K. and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of DIC Enterprises, Inc and Kenner Toys. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.


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